


Christmas in November

by lumienarc



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumienarc/pseuds/lumienarc
Summary: He just wanted to enjoy a rainy day quietly with a cup of tea in November, but she decided to turn on Christmas music far too early for his liking.But he did not dislike it.





	Christmas in November

One peaceful evening in a rainy November. A cup of tea and good music would be perfect to complete such blissful day. He was tattered by his routine and this was his chance to relax. He wore sweatpants and baggy sweater that looked so ugly even on him that no one in the world should ever lay their eyes on the sight—it was considered a fashion mortal sin, but, really, who cared what he wore when he was in the comfort of his own home. He browsed through the selections of tea in the kitchen’s top cabinet, all lined up perfectly by the variety. Being educated about the importance of tea was the most important part of his childhood, but the orderly arrangement was not his work, although he would be eternally grateful for having a neat place like this when he did not live with housekeeping service helping every single day.

After contemplating for a bit, he decided such casual evening could use casual type of tea, too, so the chosen one was English Breakfast. Surely, it was not breakfast time at the moment, but the tea variant had pleasant, most familiar taste and fragrant; the body was still subtle despite its strength; and the colour was pretty. He could add milk without spoiling the sense of casualness, too.

“Ah, what a perfect tranquillity…” he sighed in contentment as he waited for the kettle to whistle. He leaned back against the counter, smiling to himself.

“What the actual fuck?!”

And there was his evanescent joy, flying out of the window. He sighed, but now with less contentment and more with annoyance. He dragged his legs out of the kitchen, correctly spotting the source of the exclamation in no time. In the supposedly quiet and peaceful sitting room, his partner was about to throw her laptop into the electric hearth.

“What are you doing?” he asked lazily, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow at the woman who comically froze as soon as he made his presence known. She huffed; face red and lips pouted. He stayed silent, waiting.

“Google mocked me,” she replied, quite passionately if not rather stubbornly. She let down of her arms and put the laptop back to her lap as she returned to her seat.

“Google mocked you,” he repeated.

“Yes, it _mocked_ me,” she said vehemently, glaring hotly at her monitor. He would laugh if she wasn’t so worked up—he _would_ , though, later. This was such a beautiful piece of teasing material. For now, he patiently held back his sigh and pitying stare, and instead he asked wisely:

“Would you care to explain?”

“This little piece of shit showed me the lyrics to ‘Who Wants To Live Forever’ when I obviously searched for ‘Thank God It’s Christmas’!” she said, notes hitting the ceiling as she spoke. He always liked her expressive side—voice raising and all.

“Okay, let me confirm one thing: Queen’s?” he cautiously inquired. She, albeit all the heat shown earlier, exhibited nothing but a soft stare as he made his question known. A small smile tugged at her lips.

“Yes, Queen’s,” she replied gently. She held out a hand, inviting him.

“I am waiting for the kettle to sing,” he said as he approached, accepting the invitation not even a second later. He took her hand and grasped it tightly. He sat on the arm of her seat, leaning a bit forward. She pushed her laptop display back, tilting it so he could see it better. There on the screen was, indeed, as she said. The search box clearly showed that she searched for the lyrics of Queen’s _Thank God It’s Christmas_ , yet the lyrics that came up right below the box were obviously of _Who Wants to Live Forever_.

“Isn’t this some sort of… _prank_? You told me Google is full with such kind of fun,” he innocently assumed. It seemed to be plausible at one side.

“Or maybe— _maybe_ —Google just did it to mock me,” said she, back again with her undiluted fury. He truly wanted to laugh now.

“Maybe, my dear,”—he squeezed the hand he was holding and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles—“maybe, it’s because it’s not Christmas yet.”

She whipped her head so quickly toward him and put on a shocked expression that was a mixture of surprised, irritated, and offended. She let out a gasp and put a hand on her chest. She was a total drama queen sometimes. He could only smile although he truly wanted to laugh at her silliness. It would fail if he laughed, he knew. The whole charade was supposed to be dramatic and he had to play the calm person while she the stupid one.

“How dare they!” she exclaimed. “It’s Christmas every day after October thirty first!”

Now, he laughed.

“No, dear, it is not!” he interjected.

“Oh, come now! You know it’s true!” she insisted, but she grinned widely.

“No, no—we have a calendar for that!”

“Oh, I want to break free—I want to break from the shackles of that!” she began to sang, but she ended it with wrong lyrics, sending him over the arm of seat with a peal of laugh. He loved it when she did it. Well, he loved everything that she was.

“All right,” she said, trying to calm him down, “Run along now. Your kettle is finally singing. I can hear it now.” He ceased his laughter. True, the kettle whistled.

“I will bring you a cuppa,” he said, now gently.

“Thank you.”

He left the room and went back to the kitchen. The kettle had been whistling and now all he had to do was brew. He took out the teapot, put four teaspoons of tealeaves, and poured the water into it until appropriate height. The lid was back on and he waited. He chose two mugs: one was solid dark blue with white in the inside part and the other one was solid black inside out. He glanced at the clock hanging at the wall behind the refrigerator. It had been four minutes, he counted. So, he took one bag of milk from the cabinet and laid it gently next to the cups. He poured the tea and added the milk and sugar. He had her preference memorised like the back of his palm. He brought the cups back to the sitting room, which, unsurprisingly, was filled by Freddie Mercury’s powerful vocal singing _Thank God It’s Christmas_. He sighed, but he smiled anyway when she beamed at him as she waltzed and lip-synced passionately. He had no choice but to put down the cups on nearby table and join her dancing because she had mandated it the moment they exchanged look.

“Thank God it’s Christmas…” she sang the moment they joined hands and began dancing together. “Can it be Christmas? Let it be Christmas… Ev’ry day…”

He chuckled.

“I understand,” he said with deep voice that she liked so much. She didn’t answer, only grinned, and continued dancing with light steps and merry eyes.

This might not be the perfection of rainy November day he had planned earlier—the music was completely off—but this could be it anyway. At the end of the song, she had given herself completely into his embrace and they just enveloped each other in the middle of the sitting room like that for a while in silence, devouring tranquillity that had momentarily flown out of the window earlier. The sound of the rain was back again, washing away the biting memory of snow, and the awful hectic Christmastime.

“You know, this is nice,” she said.

“Even though we are going to meet so many strangers you despise?” he asked, only half surprised. They separated from each other and went to take their own seat. He handed her the black mug.

“Thank you,” she muttered as she accepted the mug gleefully. She held it with both hands, one on the holder and another at the base. She said then, “Well, in my defence, if I had other choices, I would prefer to do anything other than that, but my duty stands to be by your side and I am a perfectly dutiful person.” She sipped the tea and sighed contently.

He chuckled before taking a sip from his own mug.

“I keep thinking, though, about the kids.”

“Do you miss them?” her voice was quiet when she asked. He smiled apologetically.

“I do.”

“They were doing well, you know that,” she said, reminding him carefully. “You can still meet the youngest one if you like.”

“I can,” he quickly spoke, but his voice sank. The topic somehow always managed to dour their most tranquil moments, but it was also inevitable. It was his whole world and life. No one could blame him for keeping it close to his heart still and she was the only one who understood it perfectly.

“Eirwyn…” she called softly, beckoning him away from his fear of her non-existent wrath. Her eyes, too, were gentle. She was not the woman who whined about wrong search result just a moment ago.

“I have come to this world for you, I shouldn’t be thinking of the world you wrote for me. The world I was written for,” he murmured. He kept punishing himself for his feelings and for all he knew, she understood him completely.

“Missing your kids is not a sin,” she said so softly, so gently, it tugged his heartstrings.

“It is not,” he agreed.

“I know it used to be so packed. Little ones running all over the _château_ and you getting a headache from it, your twin brother not helping and you sister tired all the time. Your wife liked to indulge the kids and the grandparents had absolutely no control over them. It was chaotic, but you loved it. Everything is so different and lonely now, I know, but…”

He stared at her now, not wanting her to continue, and she understood his intentions just from that one stare. It was almost like a dream for everybody to have someone know you inside out and read you as if there was a manual for everything to you. He felt suddenly renewed and all his lead-weighed memory pushed back far into his mind.

“Merry Christmas,” he uttered.

She stopped for a second, eyes widened, and then she cackled.

“And you,” she replied eagerly.

“Can we listen to non-Christmas songs now? Back to where we are supposed to live now, the November?” he asked, just to humour her. He knew she wanted to go full round with her Christmas playlist anyway.

“All right, because you are wearing those hideous clothes today, I will comply,” said she, much to his surprise. She put on Justin Hayward’s _Forever Autumn_ and that was all he needed to know that she was back to November somehow.

“Why are you full so surprises?” he asked, mesmerised. She smirked.

“Because you don’t write me.”

He could only smile in acknowledge since there was nothing to be done about it. She was right. Just as the autumn melancholic music rolled, Eirwyn had strange feeling bubbling inside of him. The flickering of electronic hearth and the sound of his partner humming in between sipping her tea, it reminded him of Christmas. While he was busy getting rid of the Christmas from his November rainy day, he missed the moment it actually slipped in and settled inside his slippers and heart.

“I’ll be damned.”

**Author's Note:**

> The context is actually Eirwyn being brought to live by his writer, a woman who just wrote him, a forgotten duc from the past. His entire life was brought into real world, but only he was brought as he was written (an old money rich man in his thirties) while his family was not. He decided to stay with his writer ever since he was aware of who he was, well, she decided to stay by his side after he found and asked her. This is basically just me imagining what would happen if I brought Eirwyn to real world lol


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